


Hex

by Deadpuff



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game), Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-05-20 10:42:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14893121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deadpuff/pseuds/Deadpuff
Summary: After hearing about the newly reconstructed Haddonfield, you decide to bite the bullet and move in. With the super-low rates, and a City begging for students to help boost their ever-falling population; it seems like a win-win deal. That is until Halloween.When you end up finding a wounded Michael Myers, you swoop in and help, finding that he not only is the real Myers of legend; but that he needs your help...As a heads up, this work revolves around the H20/Resurrection Timeline. But in this slight AU our boy Michael actually dies. But don't worry, it isn't for long! Read on and find out how our boi makes a triumphant return.





	1. Moving Day

**Author's Note:**

> So to kick things off we have a super quick into, that's kind of boring but necessary to set the scene.  
> Hang in there! I'll get to the action quick enough! ;]

_I didn’t really_ want _to move._ _  
_ _I mean, I was perfectly content at home- but this opportunity was kind of a big deal._

 

 _See I wanted to attend College, but it was way, way, way out of my price range. That was until one of my relatives let me know that there was a… unique opportunity that just might suit me._   
  
_See, there’s this little town in Illinois called Haddonfield; and if you have half a brain you’ll know that it’s low-key famous for being the scene of several brutal murders. Since the town is bathed in it’s gruesome past, the population there has been dropping at a steady pace._   
  
_In order to keep the whole kitten-kaboodle from going to shits, the state decided to poor in some cash to tear everything down and rebuild it, and hopefully bring in some new prospects. And who better to use as guinea pigs than broke college students?_   
  
_I heard about all this through my Aunt Macie, who is technically a family friend and not really my aunty, but whatever. She’s one of the remaining residents of Haddonfield, and put in a good word for me._   
  
  
  
Bleary eyes widened, and you sat up suddenly, realizing the car was lurching to a stop. From your lap Chevy’s head rose, and he offered a sharp bark of excitement. You gave him a thorough pat on the head. Chevy was your dog- a senior rottweiler, clocking in at a hefty hundred-and-something pounds.   
  
“We’re here!”Aunt Macie chimed from the driver's seat, opening the door in a flurry of movement. You took one last glance out the window before hopping out, legs tingling from sitting for so long. Leaning from foot to foot, you waited for Chevy to follow you out before slamming the door shut.   
  
The sun was was high and hot, and you eagerly moved on.  
  
It had been a long road trip, and in all honesty, you was kind of anxious. There was no turning back now. You set a brisk pace, running up to the door as Aunt Macie started unpacking. The ‘dorm’ was huge, and it was immediately prevalent that these weren't any mere residential dorms. These were straight up townhouses.   
  
They were actually quite nice, modern and new smelling. Unlocking the bolt, you stepped inside, marveling at the interior.   
It really was nice.   
  
The front door led into the kitchen, which had all the fixings- fridge, dishwasher, stove, and rather nice dark woof floors. You walked in a little further, finding the kitchen opened up into a tidy living room, with a patio door leading to what you could assume was a backyard. A hallway branched from the living-room, and upon following it you discovered a large bedroom, with an in-suit bathroom. Giving the room another once-over, you turned and left.  
  
For a townhouse it was small, but for a poor college student it was massive.   
  
“I feel more like an adult already.” You stated to Aunt Macie, as she flooded the doorway. She offered you a wide smile, before handing off your first box.   
  
“You look like one.” She agreed, although there was a sarcastic tint to her voice. From behind her Chevy wandered into the house, getting right down o sniffing out all the corners.   
  
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.   
  
The rest of the afternoon- and most of the evening was spent unpacking your stuff. Aunt Macie had brought along all your personal items, while her current boyfriend had been kind enough to bring in some of her old furniture to fill the place up a bit.   
  
You were now the proud owner of a very dated couch and lounge chair set, along with a kind of ugly kitchen table and not-quite matching set of chairs.   
  
But it would do.   
  
As the evening darkened the sky you waved good-bye to your relatives, content to have the house to yourself.

Well, to you and Chevy anyways. Fortunately for you, the district had agreed to let you keep him with you, despite the newness of the homes.   
  
They must have been really desperate for residents.   
  
Approaching the couch, you took a seat, waiting for Chevy to hop up and get cozy, before reclining back and checking your phone. Your friends had spammed you with questions about the move, and honestly- you were too tired to really fill them in. Instead you wrote up a short text about having gotten there safely, before watching a couple Youtube videos.   
  
As you watched, your mind wandered.   
  
So who exactly was this Myers guy? You knew he had killed, like, a shit ton of people; but the exact story hadn't been something you had sat down and read.   
Now maybe wasn't the best time either, but... Better late then never right?  
  
Googling the name, you started to check out his wiki page.   
  
Skimming the text, you breathed an anxious sigh. He was born in 1957, and murdered his older sister when he was five. Awesome. Then twenty-one years later he escaped and killed five more people. He was shot six times, and stabbed, and vanished. Then just when everyone thought they were safe, he miraculously returned, killing eleven more people before being caught in an explosion. He was apparently put in an institute after that.   
  
You shook your head, incredulous. Should they not have, y’know killed the guy after that? Butchering sixteen people was enough to warrant the death penalty right?   
  
You read on. Apparently another twenty years later he escaped yet again- and attempted to kill his living sisters son; he ended up taking the lives of seven more people, and escaping. Before returning once more to successfully kill his sister, along with another nine people who had tried filming some sort of show in his old home. After it had gone up in flames, ol’ Michael had been confirmed dead.   
  
So altogether that was… Thirty four people? Fucking hell.   
  
No wonder nobody wanted to live here. You weren’t so sure you wanted to.   
Seeming to sense you distress, Chevy placed his head on you hand, and you raised it to give him a good scratch behind the ear.   
  
Scrolling down a bit further your eyes caught on a line of numbers, apparently his house was… that address looked familiar.

You felt a rush of chills. In the reconstruction of the town, they had demolished and rebuilt everything, so to say you were exactly on top of the old location was a lie. That being said, you were about as close as you could get, with the home attached to yours technically also splitting the property.   
  
Clicking off your phone, you stood. That was enough spooky shit for one night.   
Giving one last lazy stretch, you retreated to your bedroom, tucking in with Chevy at your back for the night.   
  
Michael Myers was over ten years dead. You had nothing to worry about.   
  
  



	2. Close Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Halloween approaches you have a rather close call, it seems you've hit a bit of a patch of bad luck. Bad luck with chloroform that is.

The first month and a half of College was actually pretty relaxed. The workload was tense, but you were actually really into your classes, so you managed to finish off most assignments in due time. You also worked at a local Cafe, drumming up enough money on the side to pay the bills and keep Chev and yourself fed.    
  
It was in the latter half of October that things started to get a little… odd. While you never really  _ saw _ anything weird, you often got that feeling. It was as if someone was watching you. You supposed that was just the atmosphere around Halloween. This town was afterall the scene of a tragedy.    
  
That was until October 30th.    
  
It was chilly evening, and you had just gotten home from a late shift at work. Despite the fatigue, you owed Chevy a walk. He was a good dog, and knew not to leave your side, so you didn’t bother with a leash.   
  
Shutting the door behind you, you jogged down the stoop, choosing the quiet street to the left. It had to be almost eleven o’clock, and there wasn’t a soul out. It was relaxing, with just the wind in the trees and the click-clack fo Chevy’s claws punctuating the air.    
  
You had decided to forgo headphones, just incase someone decided to sneak up on you. This went on for about fifteen minutes, before you stopped to wait for Chevy, who had paused to sniff around entrance to an alley.   
  
“Hey, Chevy come on.” You prompted, but he didn’t budge. That was odd. He was a good listener, so something must have really gotten his attention.    
  
Just as you made the decision to grab his collar, he bolted down the sidewalk- back the way you had come, letting out one long snarl. You could just make out the slender figure of a man, wearing a white mask. He was running away.

 

What? That was some kind of prank, right?   
  
“Che-!” You started you call, your voice cut off as someone grabbed you from behind, cupping a hand over your mouth.    
  
_ What the fuck?! _ __   
  
Was all you managed to think. They dragged up backwards into the alley, and before you could react spun you around, shoving your back into the concrete of the building you were sandwiched between. 

 

You tried to call for help, but the air was knocked out of your lungs from the blow, and you only managed a strangled gasp.   
  
The man before you was short but bulky, wearing all black- save for the white mask.    
The same mask. 

 

From his jacket pocket he produced a switch blade, flicking it out and pointing it at your chest. 

 

“I- I don’t have anything!” You stuttered, but he didn’t respond. It was true, you didn’t bring your wallet with you.

 

His other hand went to his opposite pocket  and he produced a cloth.

 

There was only one thing that could be. 

Reacting in an instant you faked a kick at his crotch, when he ducked you met his face with the blunt end of your palm.

 

His nose crunched under hand and you turned to run. 

 

He must have been desperate to keep you however, as he dove for you, tackling you to the ground. As some point he dropped the knife, and was now straddling your back, trying to shove the cloth into your face.

 

Just when you thought he might have had you, a furious snarl echoed throughout the alley.

 

Chevy! 

 

He bolted towards the attacker, snagging his arm and shaking his head with violent intent.

 

Your attacker finally relented, ripping himself away and sprinting down the opposite side of the alley. 

 

Scrambling to your feet you turned and ran home, not pausing even once to catch your breath, you didn’t stop until you and Chevy were behind the locked door of your house.

 

Pressing your back against the door, you slid down it, one hand over your pounding heart.

 

Chevy stopped to sit down before you, giving your hand a kiss. His mouth was bloody and it left a streak. Sitting up you hugged him close, giving him a once over to make sure he was alright. 

 

Save for one paw pad torn from running on the pavement, he seemed fine. 

 

With his safety confirmed, you broke down. 

 

Someone had just tried to kidnap you. What the actual fuck. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he was wearing a fucking Myers mask. 

 

Had Chevy not chased off his partner he would have succeeded. 

 

You cried. Hard. Until your nerves finally settled enough for you to call the police.

 

Grabbing your cell phone you dialed the number. It rang once, then twice, thrice… it rang almost ten times before you gave up and dialed again. Same deal.

 

What was going on? Now you were really on edge.

 

You considered calling you parents but it was almost half past twelve now. 

 

So you called Aunt Macie, she answered on the second ring.

 

“Hello? Auntie oh my god.” You began, breathing a sigh of relief.

 

“Hey, what’s going on?” She asked groggily, her voice croaky from sleep.

 

“Someone just tried to attack me when I was walking Chevy, I can’t get a hold of the police.” You went on, your voice high. 

 

“Oh my god, are you okay?” She asked. 

 

“Y-yeah.” You managed. 

 

“Do you need us to come out?” She went on, her voice high with concern.   
  
You hesitated. As much as you wanted to leave, you were safe now, technically. Besides, Aunt Macie’s landlord kind of hated dogs, and you wouldn't want her to get in shit for it. That and you would never leave Chevy behind, he was your hero afterall.    
  
“No, that’s okay. I think I’ll be fine. I’m going to try the police again, okay?”   
  
“Okay, keep me posted!”

  
You hung up your phone with one tap, punching in the number again.    
  
This time it went through.   
  
When the operator finally responded, you reported your incident, you could practically hear him roll his eyes.    
  
“Look ma’am, we’ll dispatch someone to your area to check things out, but we’re already stretched pretty thin. Every year we get a ton of false calls about Myer’s in the streets, it’s gonna take some time.”    
  
You sighed at that. But thanked him, before hanging up. So much for that. Retreating, you decided to calm down, and have a shower, before texting your friends about the night’s chaos.    
  
At least they were sympathetic.   
  
By the time you were actually tired enough to sleep, it was almost seven in the morning. With no commitments for the ever so spooky Halloween Day, you  sauntered off to bed. 

 


	3. Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's that in your back yard, a bird? A squirrel? A six foot tall serial killer? Aw, neat.

Hunger woke you up first. As soon as you stirred Chevy sat up, turning to shove his face in yours.

 

He licked you from chin to forehead, his little stub tail wagging so hard his whole rear end was swishing.

 

“Yeah yeah I’m up buddy, I’m up.” You groaned, pawing for your phone on the nightstand. It was almost ten in the evening. Shit. Talk about sleeping in.   
  
Who knew trauma was the secret to fifteen hours of sleep. 

 

You weren’t exactly eager to see the night back again so soon, but whatever. All the craziness would probably blow over after Halloween right?

 

Getting out of bed, you changed into some leggings and your biggest, most comfortable sweater. With that, you sauntered down the hall to the kitchen. 

 

You scooped out a bowl of kibble for Chevy, with a dollop of peanut butter on top as a belated thank you gif; then turned to get set on your own dinner.

 

You were in the mood for some kind of breakfast, even if it was technically dinner time. 

 

Defrosting some bacon, you popped it on a rack in the oven, before producing a bowl. Mixing together flour, sugar, milk, eggs and a pinch of baking powder, you stirred up a luxuriously thick bowl of batter.   
  


Aunt Macie had left you an ancient waffle iron, so you took it out, generously greasing it before pouring in the batter.

 

Within half an hour you ya a feast, and you gladly sat down at the kitchen table for some fine dining. Chevy of course polished off his kibble in moments, and came skulking around like a shark for scraps.

 

You snuck him a waffle under the table.

Not that it mattered, it was your house. 

But still, this way you could pretend you weren’t the reason Chevy was, well, kinda chubby. 

 

Satisfied, you rose to cleanup up, throwing on a horror movie in the background to pass the time. It was Halloween after all! 

 

Besides, the free time made you think about last night, and you needed the distraction. 

 

When everything was said and scrubbed it was past eleven. Time sure flies when you’re scraping burnt waffle out of cast iron. 

 

By now Chevy was begging to go outside, poor boy had probably been holding it for hours. The last thing you wanted to do was go for a walk on Halloween, post kidnapping attempt, so you propped open the patio, letting him wander around the back yard.

 

It was not fenced, but each yard was ringed with some low bushes in the rough shape of the yards border, save for the odd empty patch; with the furthest end of the yard sheltered with a copse of trees.

 

As you watched you breathed a sigh, enjoying the fresh air. From across your yard you could just make out the low flicker of a campfire, and the throbbing beat of music. You watched it for a while, before turning to Chevy again.

 

He was sniffing a dark streak in the grass. At first you thought it was mud, but as you approached it, you could see the crimson hue reflecting from the light that escaped the patio.

 

Blood.

 

Why was there blood in your yard?

 

You looked up at the same time as Chevy. The streak led towards the trees at the end of your yard. 

 

Cautiously you stepped barefoot towards the shadowy end of the yard, with Chevy low and tense at you side.

 

You flicked on your phone's flashlight, and there amongst the trunks you spotted a body.

 

“Oh my god.” You whispered.

 

You walked a little closer, sticking out a bare foot to nudge it.

 

You and Chevy both jumped when the body moved. It was a man, in navy blue coveralls and another goddamn mask. 

 

At first you thought it might be the same guy from last night… but this man was far taller, and of muscular build. 

 

He was laying half on his back, and half on his side, with one hand around his stomach.

 

That’s when you noticed the wounds, he had numerous bloody stab wounds to his chest and stomach. You would have assumed it was a joke had you not been able to smell the copper, thick on the night air. 

 

“Holy fuck!” Was all you managed. Running the rest of the way up to him, you crouched at his side, already dialing in your phone.

 

“Just hold on, I’m going to call an ambulance.” You began. As soon as the words left your mouth his arm shot out, capturing your wrist. You let out a yelp of surprise, and Chevy growled- deep and threatening at your side.

  
You were surprised he was still conscious, given the extent of his wounds.    
  


You were at a stalemate. 

 

“Dude, you’re bleeding out! Let me help you.” You stated, trying to pull your hand away from the man. His grip was iron strong.

 

“I’ll hang up the phone if you let go, but I can’t just leave you on the ground out here.” You bargained, and this time, after a few tense heartbeats, he relented. A low grunt escaped him, and he released you, putting his palm back onto his torso. 

 

Snatching back your wrist, you tucked away your phone.

 

“Can you stand?” You asked.

 

He hesitated at this, before heaving himself up onto his hands, and then up onto two feet. He had one hand out, using the nearest tree to balance. 

 

His legs shook, unsteady, and you grabbed one of his hands, putting it over your shoulder. 

 

He didn’t seem keen on it, but permitted it.

 

Now that he was standing you could see how tall he really was. Leaning heavily into you, you almost fell yourself. Goddamn he was _heavy._   
  
The entire time you walked, he watched you, mask turned fully to stare you down. You didn’t make eye contact, just looked straight on ahead. 

 

Chevy followed the pair of you as you made your way across the lawn, each step agonizingly slow. You wished you were stronger. 

 

Just before the stoop he collapsed, and you barely managed to catch him. Well, catch his upper body. He lost consciousness, his head lolling to one side.    
  
_ Fuck’s sake.  _

 

It took you a moment to adjust your grip, you had your hands under his arms in a fireman carry, and Chevy helped by grabbing one of his boots. 

 

As soon as he was on the hardwood of your living room, you ran into the kitchen. Stuffing your arms with as many dish towels as you could carry, before returning to the strangers side.

 

Chevy stayed opposite to you, ready to pounce at any moment. Even now he let out the occasional low, menacing growl.

 

Crouching you frantically unbuttoned the front of his coveralls. Underneath was a black t-shirt, which you lifted from the bottom to expose most of his torso. It was soaked and more or less shredded, so you ripped the cloth with your fingers.    
  
Oh god, the wounds. You wished you had the foresight to look away. He had two gashes, from his stomach, left to his ribs. Along with a four shallow stab wounds to his chest and lower abdomen. In the center of  his chest was a puncture wound that you could only assume was from some kind of sharp stick or pole.   
  
This guy was going to die. Holy shit he was going to die on your living room floor.    
  
The thought that you would be with someone in their last moments filled you with dread, and you shook your head. Were you crying? Probably. 

 

Taking a handful of towels, you set them stop the wounds, pressing as hard as you could. 

 

_ Pressure will stop the bleeding.  _ You thought to yourself, over and over. It was your mantra. You focused on nothing but the words. 

 

After a while your hands began to cramp, but you persisted. The shock of finding the man- and seeing his wounds- was wearing off, you felt panic threatening.

 

What if he really died? Who would you call? How would you explain it? 

 

_ Hi! He said not to call an ambulance so I didn’t haha, how weird is that? I swear I don’t stab him officer.  _

 

Flawless. 

 

You glanced back at the man, he was oddly still, and you stopped.

 

Your heart jolted as you realized he had stopped breathing. 

 

_ This is it. Fucking fuck. This is it.  _

 

The only first aid you new was from the fucking show The Office! 

 

Scrambling to his chest, you listened, and upon hearing nothing crossed your hands, pressing down above his breastbone. 

 

You began compressions, with each pump to the beat of ‘Staying Alive’- that’s what they said to do in the show right? You did this for thirty pumps before turning to his face.

 

_ Now he needs to breath.  _ Reaching for the edges of his mask, you attempted to deliver rescue breaths- but before you could touch him he gasped, sitting up straight, like some kind of mummy. 

 

It scared the goddamn hell out of you, and you screamed, which caused Chevy to erupt into a chorus of barks. 

 

“Oh my god.” Was all you managed, once again holding a hand over your heart. All these scares were going to do you in, Jesus.    
  
“D-don’t get up.” You warned, your breath high. “Just lay back, okay?” You advised, shuffling on your hands and knees back to his side. He ignored you, trying to get to his feet. Opposite to you Chevy let a rumbling warning growl. Reaching out, you grabbed his arm.    
  
His head turned slowly to look at you.   
  
“You’re still hurt.” You warned, and almost mockingly he grabbed the towels on his core, pulling them away. It revealed… Remarkably smaller wounds. Most of them were nearly halved in size, with the worst now only dribbling the meekest trails of blood.     
  
“W-what?” You stuttered, not stopping him this time as he stood. Behind you, rain began to fall, the droplets falling with increasing steadiness. You were shocked. How? How was he already better? That didn’t make any sense.   
  
Shakily you stood, shutting the patio door and just staring at your new house guest. He was glaring down at Chevy, who was staring right back, now wedged between the two of you. His hackles were raised, and he let out steady rumbling growl after growl.    
  
Your guest didn't seem like a dog person, and when Chevy took a step towards him, he raised a hand.    
  
“Wait! Don’t hurt him! He’s a good dog! You’re just scaring him.” You explained as soon as you came back to yourself, this time putting yourself between Chevy and the guest.    
  
Neither seemed satisfied with that, but after a few tense moments Chevy backed down, and the stranger dropped his hand. He regarded the dog a moment longer, before turning his gaze to you.    
  
You opened your mouth to speak, but he turned away, wandering down the hall.    
“W-wait, you can't just go wandering around. You should still sit down!” You called after him. When you ran up the hallway he was gone.    
  
What?   
  
Seeing as to how slow he moved with his wounds, it was impossible for him to be through it already? Running down the hall you stuck your head into your room. Nothing. It was like he had vanished. You jogged into the attached bathroom, but again- empty.    
  
Digging around under the sink you grabbed your medical kit. At least you could patch him up if you could find him. Right?   
  
Turning around to check the kitche you gasped, finding the stranger standing directly behind you.    
  
“Fuck! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” You scolded, pushing past him. “Now come here, sit.” You commanded, gesturing to the bed. He stood for a moment, gazing down at you with his head turned, before slowly moving to stand in front of your bed.   
  
Close enough.   
  
Setting the kit on the bed, you opened it up, grabbing a few large cotton patches and some medical tape. You placed them over the worst of the wounds, taping them in place. To be cautious, you wove a line of bandaged around the lighter of the wounds. Should her tear the delicate scabbing that had formed so quickly, it would stop the bleeding. Probably.    
  
The close proximity was tense, and you glanced at his face- er, mask every so often to ensure he wasn't uncomfortable. He just stared back down at you, with eyes so dark they looked like charcoal.    
  
“You should lie down, I’m gonna clean up. The couch is open, I can lend you a few blankets if you want.” You began gesturing towards the doorway. Chevy stood in the frame, glaring daggers.    
  
Your guest looked at him, then at you, before walking to the side of the bed furthest from the both of you and laying down. 

 

“Wha- That’s my bed…” You began, indignantly. He ignored you. You frowned.    
  
Okay, fine, whatever. He could have a free pass, he did just, like, die earlier.    
Still, bad manners.   
  
With a frustrated sigh, you turned away. Your living room needed cleaning, it looked like the scene of a crime.    
  
Despite the tiredness, you lugged out a bottle of bleach, filling up a bucket with it, and water, before stealing one of the remaining non-soiled clothes to scrub the floors.    
  
It took a good hour to get the blood off of floorboards, and the door jam, and especially your hands. It took you a good ten minutes just to get the blood from under your fingernails.    
  
It was almost cathartic, watching it all go down the drain. Last;y you loaded up the washer- with cold water and no small amount of bleach. As a lady, you were mercifully good at getting blood out of clothing. You chucked in your sweater for good measure, before remembering as soon as it hit the water that your room was currently occupied.   
  
Biting your lip, you peaked in the doorway. Chevy still blocked the jam- ever vigilantly watching the man. Your guest appeared to be asleep; laying on his back, with his face to the ceiling. With on slow step, you entered the room, shuffling over to your dresser. Mercifully you had left a t-shirt laying atop of it. Snatching it, you turned away, just long enough to throw on the article.    
  
You thought you felt eyes on you, but when you turned- he was still looking up.   
  
Okay. Good.   
  
You were about to turn to check on him, when you heard a distant knock on the door.    
  
It was almost two in the morning by now, who could that have been?   
  
Jumping over Chevy- who was torn between guarding the stranger, and checking out the door- you cautiously opened the door a crack. It was a cop.   
  
“Good evening ma’am, sorry to bother you so late.” He greeted, he was in his late twenties, and looked almost eager; like something exciting had happened. But he kept the energy out of his tone.    
  
“No problem, I was still awake.” You responded trying to look calm.   
  
“We just received reports of an attack near here, the suspect is supposedly a Michael Myers copy-cat.” He began. And you blanched.    
  
“He… wounded four teen in a dorm near here, and was injured. Witnesses say he was spotted fleeing this way, have you seen anyone in a William Shatner mask, and blue coveralls?” He asked, leaning forward.    
  
Behind him you could just make out a cruiser, and an older man who you assumed to be his partner was leaning back. Lighting a cigarette.    
  
“Um.” You hesitated.    
  
What should you say? This was exactly what you didn’t want. Fuck. How would you even out it? Hello, I just found someone matching that exact description in my backyard, he’s in my bed, wanna see?    
  
Then again, there were also those two men from the night prior who had tried to kidnap you. They were suspects too.   
  
At your hesitation the cop leaned in, offering a look to his partner. You saw him begin walking towards your stood.   
  
_ Shit.  _ _   
_ _   
_ “No, I haven't. But last night I got attacked by two men in those masks, they tried to kidnap me… It was just up the street in the alley between the Italian Bakery there and the hardware store.” You explained, repeating what you had told the operator yesterday.   
  
The younger cop seemed to deflate a bit at this, no doubt excited for the prospect of some action. His partner nudged him.   
  
“Er, thanks for your time ma’am, have a good night.” He said, nodding to you. His partner watched him, before speaking up as well; his eyes were locke don yours.    
  
“Be sure to let us know if you see anyone strange.” He stated. The younger cop left, but the other stayed a moment, squinting into your house.    
  
_ What did he see? _ _   
_ __   
“Will do, thanks! Have a good night.” You responded quickly, shutting the door.    
  
Oh god, what had you gotten yourself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, thanks for reading so far! I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter. If there's anything you really enjoyed, or wanted to see in future chapters, let me know! :]


	4. Sleepover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After covering for the sick nasty killer in your house, you get up to some thinking, and a little bit of cooking.  
> Who's to say living with a murderer is all bad?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowie, it's been a while, huh?
> 
> So I'm graduating college in five days (woop woop!) and finally had some time to start writing. I largely blame the new Halloween movie for finally getting my buns in gear.   
> So sorry for the delay my lovelies, I'll hopefully be finishing this guy and Monstrous up in the next few months.
> 
> On a side note, please consider supporting me through my Ko-fi;  
> http://ko-fi.com/clockworkcryptid  
> Anyone kind enough to donate gets a little gift in return. <3

Standing behind the door you waited until you heard the older officers footsteps retreat, and the snarl of their engine coming to life as they pulled up the street. Sighing you rested your forehead to the cool panes. What you wouldn’t give for a couple of shots. Espresso or Vodka, just something. Your heart still hammered in your chest, loud in your ears and the still night air. 

Leaning back you turned to face your living room, the offensive scent of bleach still in the air. I should light a candle. You thought miserably, before strolling over to do exactly that. The local bookstore had some cute ones one sale; along with some mugs, and you had splurged, who knew it would come in handy?

Lighting and placing one in every corner, you turned to face the hallway, mouth half down turned in an anxious frown. You supposed you should check on your house-guest. Your murder happy house guest… In the dark you could just make out Chevy’s form, standing stalk still in the doorway, head turned in Michael’s direction, but his ears quirked to listen to you. 

Watchful, but not aggravated, his body language read. Treading up the hallway on soft feet you peaked around the door jam. Part of you thought he may have just up and vanished- away into the night like he had come, but instead he lay where he had originally retreated. You were slightly disappointed. You wanted your bed. Stepping over Chevy you ignored his soft wine, outstretching one hand to your unoccupied pillow. 

In one swift movement you snatched it towards yourself. Chevy jumped and let out a soft bork at the action. No motion. Panic nagged at you, was he dead? He was so still… 

Biting a lip you leaned over again. Was his chest moving? You rested a hand on the bed to keep your balance, extending a hand.

You poked him in the arm. 

Nothing.

You waited another heartbeat, before reaching to poke him in the soft malleable white silicon of his mask. A sigh escaped him, causing you to jump backwards with enough speed you almost toppled over Chevy. 

He was alive, just breathing very deeply you discovered. Clutching your pillow to your chest you left the room, closing the door with a soft click. At your feet Chevy gave you a long knowing look, as if to say, Mom, what are you doing?

***

Sorting your pillow and blanket into a narrow makeshift bed, you laid down on the couch. Sleeping seemed like an awful idea, and in truth you were still wired from the days excitement; not that it really mattered if you slept or not. School was out for the next few days and you had wisely booked of the week of Halloween to avoid tending to grouchy hungover college kids. 

Reaching for your laptop, you opened it up, flicking through Netflix for a moment before picking something very not scary to watch. Chevy hopped up beside you after a moment, worming his way onto your lap, and the onto your stomach, until his head rested square on your chest. 

Ruffling his ears, you fell into a half tired half wired trance; only absorbing half of what you watched. As you did so your mind wandered; there was a killer in your home. Potentially anyways. Maybe he was some guy in a costume that got into the wrong end of town. Maybe he was one of those weirdos who had tried to kidnap you.

Frowning, you stared up at the ceiling. The healing factor is what didn’t make sense. And… now that you thought about it… Michael had to be over fifty years old by now. The toned muscle you had bandaged certainly hadn’t been that of an older man. Of course, you hardly seen his face, but he lacked the age spots or tried and true wrinkles of a true older man.

Tabbing out, you returned to the wikipedia page, biting your lip in apprehension. It had listed he had died in a fire; after residing in his old home and finding those dumbasses trying to film some kind of ghost show in his old house. They had recovered his body, he had been confirmed dead. As far as you knew authorities still had his corpse. 

Even if he had survived, he would have had some kind of burn scarification. ...Right?

Clicking on your phone you tried to call your best friend. It passed on to voicemail. “Hey, it’s me, I got myself in… a situation, call me when you can.” You sighed, hanging up. The chances she would believe you were slim, but what choice did you have? You couldn’t just keep this shit under wraps, that’s exactly how people got murdered. 

Just text me when you can, okay? If I don’t reply do me a favor and call my Auntie. You texted immediately afterwards scrawling her number in your next message, before stuffing your phone back into your shirt. 

Closing the murder tab you went back to your show, passing in and out of sleep in brief spurts, before hunger finally made you want to get up. Your breakfast-dinner seemed like forever ago. Maybe it was, you had no idea what time it was. 

Slinking out of your cozy makeshift bed, you stood, Chevy following with a grievous sigh. Poor old boy. Rubbing his head, you stepped over him into the kitchen. The pantry yielded nothing but packaged ramen, so you took it, along with some leftover chicken from the fridge. 

As the meat heated you boiled the noodles, adding a few splashes of soya sauce, and fish sauce. Searching the fridge you hoped to find some boiled eggs that you could throw in to make some proper ramen, but all you found were some sad wrinkled green onions and a rapidly aging bag of sandwich meat. Retrieving the kitchen you, grasped a hefty knife from your kitchen block, chopping it and the lunch meat into tidy cubes. Shrugging you threw them all together, save for the lunch meat, ‘accidently’ dropping some sandwich meat on your way to the garbage, much to Chevy’s delight. You made up one bowl, before thoughtfully considering making one up for your guest. 

Hesitating at the counters edge you grabbed another bowl, dumping another portion out. If he didn’t take it, it was lunch, er, supper? Breakfast? Looking over at the stove you saw it was just passed four am. It could be lunch. Nodding with finality, you turned, one hot bowl in either hand. 

Exiting the kitchen you rounded the corner to the hallway. Chevy let out a soft grumble. A figure stood baring the entire span of the hallway, staring down at you with little regard. Too tired to be startled you just slowly craned your head up to look at him, not mad. Just disappointed. 

“You need to stop sneaking up on me.” You said firmly, shoving the bowl towards him. He stared down at it. “It’s ramen.” You added. He looked back at you. “Soup. Just take the soup.” You prodded, extending it to him again.

He took it, staring down at the offending bowl and spoon.

It wasn’t until after you settled on the couch that you realized he would have to take his mask off to eat it. Sheepishly you glanced over your shoulder at him. He was looking into the kitchen. Unease made you shuffle. Hesitant to eat. But so hungry. You risked taking a long slurp of the hot broth. 

There was a corresponding wet noise from the kitchen, and you relaxed a little. Chevy retreated from where had stood by the hall, coming to sit next to you on the couch; his hackles prickled, but silent. 

Quickly twirling the noodles you downed them, eager to see what Michael had gotten up to. When you entered the kitchen again his back was to you, the eye holes in the mask empty and staring back at you from where it had been drawn up. The hair you could see was dark, dark blond, nearly brown, with the sliver of his pale jawline visible. 

Definitely not fifty. Not even thirty. Who then..? Your spoon clinked against the side of the bowl and he drew the mask down suddenly. Slowly looking in your direction. You stared back at him, leaning on the wall to your side. “So do you have like, family I can call to get you?” You asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

You didn’t know what to think. Maybe he was just some normal weird teen. Who got he shit end of the stick at some party. Or got jumped like you had but been a hell of a lot less lucky. Maybe your fatigue and shock had made the wounds seem worse than you thought. You wanted to think so. He couldn’t be the real deal, that would be impossible. 

Right?

At your words Michael cocked his head, as if looking at you for the first time. You let this go on for about four awkward minutes before letting out a sigh and standing. “Whatever, look, you’re from here at least right?” Silence. “Okay how about, tomorrow morning we find your dorm or whatever, cool?” He glanced around the room for a moment, before looking at you pointedly, as though he had decided this was, in fact, his dorm.

You shook your head. Walking past him you tossed your bowl in the sink, turning your back to him and returning to Chevy and the living room. He had been standing on the couch staring holes into Michael. Erm, whoever. 

Easing into your bed, you turned Netflix on again, a shiver running down your spine as Not-Michael ghosted into the room. Quiet, that guy. He watched along with you for several minutes, before eventually approaching your chair, and taking a seat. “I’m halfway through the season, should I start over?” You asked. No response. You were watching Queer Eye. You restarted it to the first episode. 

No reaction.

At some point you fell asleep, Chevy resting his head on your chest once again. Patting around for your phone, you found it was almost eleven in the morning. Your battery was only at two percent. And your phone had blown up over night, with six missed calls from your best friend, a landslide of texts and a rather casual check-in text from your Auntie. 

Confusion laced your brows for a moment, before it all came back to you, and you sat up suddenly. Did you fall asleep with to blankets? No matter. Across from you the chair was empty. You glance din the kitchen. Empty. The hallway? Empty, you checked every nook and cranny in your room; but there was nobody. It was like he had never been here. 

Pacing up the hallway you checked your washer. The cloths remained, most of which bleached into perfect cleanliness. So it wasn’t a dream… Re-entering the kitchen, you found the door was still locked, two bowl in the sink and- wait. Your knife, it was gone… 

Unease prickled in your gut, and turning you saw the patio door was unlocked. So he had left. With a knife. Awesome.


	5. Right Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader learns a lot more about what happened on Halloween night. Maybe a bit too much; and mulls over what exactly she has to fear.

_ Did I do the right thing? _ _  
_   
So there was now a masked, super healing, potential serial killer on the loose. With your address, and your knife.    
  
Awesome.    
  
Unease made you feel mildly nauseous; but you did your best to pluck along through the day. Dishes needed to be done, laundry needed to be dried, your bed needed to be remade, and god almighty you needed a shower. Oh, and texts. You really needed to get back to your texts.   
  
Firstly you texted back Auntie; even if it was with one quick “I’m all g.”    
  
Then you called your best friend; gracefully ignoring her texts of increasing apprehension.    
  
“Hey, so, on Halloween some guy ended up like, showing up in my yard. He was all fucked up I don’t know if he was drunk or what. But yeah; he stayed the night and I fixed him up. And he left this morning. Sorry to stress you out I just didn't know if he was weird or not. Anyways; love you, sorry to make you worry!” You hung up, satisfied just leaving your phone to charge.    
  
It was the mental checklist that kept you from teetering into a panic. Rinse the bowls. Don’t think about the killer on the loose. Fold the no longer blood-stained towels. Don’t think about the killer on the loose. Pull tight your sheets. Don’t think about the killer on the loose.    
  
It wasn’t like your suspicions were confirmed. The real Myers would have slaughtered you. Right? But that little kernel of anxiety gnawed at you. That ‘What if?’   
  
By two you had everything done, and were almost out of excuses. Biting your lip you wandered into the bathroom; stripping down and starting up a blistering hot shower. Despite having meticulously cleaned the blood off your hands; the sticky sensation seemed to stay with you.   
  
As did your worries.    
  
An hour of dissociation and and suds later; you were a new women. Or at the very least, more relaxed; your frets going down the drain along with the grimy sensation. Clothes warm from the dryer completed the sensation and you swiftly tidied up your hair.    
  
No sooner than you exited the room did Chevy trot up, his stump tail wagging with unmatched speed. You could see it in his eyes. Walkies. It was time for walkies.    
  
“Okay, we can go.” You said, breathing a resigned sigh. You needn’t say the word. He knew every vowel leading up to it. Like a shot he zoomed up the hall; claws scrabbling on the floor as he almost wiped out around the kitchen corner.    
  
Strolling after him you rounded the bend to see him seated beside the door, leash clasped between his teeth and butt firmly sitting atop your shoes.    
  
“I’m comin; I’m comin’.” You stated, giving him a good natured scratch so he would stand up and off your footwear. Grasping your coat and a fuzzy scarf you bundled up, before clicking him in and going on your way.    
In was chilly outside, but not altogether bad. Mercifully the wind carried a warm breeze, stirring leaves past you as you walked. At your side Chevy trotted, his mouth wide in a contented smile.    
  
It was easy to let your mind drift, allowing Chevy to lead you through the mostly empty streets. Occasionally you would pass some of your fellow classmates- who would offer a wave or a swift good-natured pat to Chevy’s head. He was kind of everyone’s favourite.    
  
As you strolled past the alleyway you had been all the less than fortunate in- you frowned. You never did hear anything from the police about your kidnapper. Glancing up the street you breathed a sigh. If you were really worried you could stop by station.   
  
But were you?   
  
No.    
  
Maybe.   
  
Well, yes but less by the kidnappers and more by the, ugh.    
  
Stop thinking about it. Your obsessing. Weirdos obsess about stuff.   
  
You slowed your steps.   
  
Then again, there had been that officer who had stopped by your house. The younger one wasn’t much but the older one... He definitely seemed suspicious of you. And at the very least that made him dangerous.    
  
If they were to find out the kind of person you had defended… You shivered, earning a head bump from Chevy as he slowed to walk beside you. To the station then.   
  
It added a half hour to your stroll, but kept you occupied. Taking the street to your left you swung down a narrow alleyway. Just as you rounded the backmost edge you paused; the smell of cigarette smoke making your nose sting.    
  
Someone was back there.    
  
“Yeah, no, I know. Autopsy report says she was killed that night, at least a half hour before the whole… ritual.” A beat of silence. You blinked. What the hell?   
  
“Mhm, well toxicology said she had been Chloroformed, yes. No, no bindings. That’s how they got her there without any fuss. Yeah. Yeah. Well we had one other complaint about a kidnapping attempt. Yeah. Some other student who lived by the old residence. No. She didn't look like the sister. Neither of them did.”    
  
Taking a slow step back, you eased into the shadow of the wall; Chevy taking note of this and gently sliding onto his stomach. His ears were pricked forward, listening just as intently as you. In your haste you missed part of his words.    
  
“-Oth were taken to hospital. One died on route. Yeah, that brings it to four, well four victims on scene then the one in the hall and the one at the hospital. So six deceased. Yeah.” There was a brief pause, and the faint rustling of fabric, before the footsteps began to retreat.    
  
“Yeah I need to go, my break is done. Yeah. Bye.” With that the man finished, and your heart lurched as you heard them steps coming in your direction. Biting your lip you forced yourself between the dumpster and the wall; Chevy army crawling to his own spot adjacent to you. Fumbling for a box you set it on his rear; effectively covering half of him.    
  
The footsteps came closer, and you closed your eyes; frozen.    
  
They kept on by.    
  
After what felt like hours you heard the side door to the station creak open, and then shut.    
  
You gave it another few moments.   
  
Before taking a deep breath you didn't know you were holding. Following the shadow you snuck back up the alley, and home. You could call them. No way in hell you were walking in there now.    
  
The jog back was a swift one, and you were eager to return to the sanctity of your home.    
  
Upon arriving you let Chevy go, and he promptly settled in front of his bowl; eyeing you expectantly. “Right, give me a minute bud.” You laughed, your voice a little strained with unease.    
  
You had learned a lot. Be it legally or not.    
  
Approaching Chevy’s food container you winced as his scoop scraped bare bottom. Empty. Shit. You hadn't gotten groceries yet. It was already four. You really didn’t want to stay out when it was dark.    
  
_ But food. _   
  
Your stomach growled. “Yeah, food.”    
  
It seemed to complain.    
  
Chevy whined.   
  
“Foooooooood!”   
  
“Ugh. I’ll be back soon, sorry Chev.” You resigned, stepping right back into your shoes. Grabbing your bag you hopped out the door. Too bad they didn't let dogs in the store. You would have felt a lot safer that way.    
  
The walk was brisk, your feet moving at a doubled pace. What the shit had that officer been talking about? Six people dead? And a ritual? With a woman that was almost you. You shivered despite your layers. Had it been Michael? Er, your Michael? Your not-Michael? If he had been the one harmed than maybe he had been part of this ritual, and gotten attacked.    
  
Maybe his whole healing thing was some kind of magic bullshit from said ritual.    
  
You pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache coming on.   
Magic isn’t real.   
Michael isn’t a supernatural being.    
He’s a person and he’s dead.   
And your fellow students have a fucked up idea of fun.    
  
Nodding with finality you forced the idea out of your mind, grabbing a basket.    
  
Instead you poked through the isles. Gathering up what started as one item to a sprawling basket. Noodles, veggies, cereal.   
  
As you shopped you paused. Your skin prickled with unease.   
  
_ I need to chill _ . You thought, biting your lip.    
  
Fruit, ground beef, chicken breast, hot cheetos.   
  
Someone was staring at you.   
  
The isle was empty…   
  
Frozen perogies, sour cream, milk.   
  
Footsteps just to your left.   
  
Nobody.    
  
Eggs, poptarts, bread.    
  
You turned the corner to the next isle; but instead of walking you halted just short of the edge.   
  
A man bumped into you; looking hurried.    
  
“Ah! Uh, sorry. Sorry miss.” He said immediately, throwing up his hands. He was short, and heavier set. And not at all imposing. You arched an eyebrow at him.    
  
“I- I’m Kyle. We’re in English together.” He said immediately, extending a hand.    
  
Ignoring it you took a step back, popping your hip.    
  
“You following me?” You asked, eyes narrowed.    
  
He sputtered at that, his cheeks reddening in a dead give away.    
  
“I, no, well, I guess, yes. But like not in a weird way!” He confessed.   
  
“I just, I thought, I don't know... you’re really pretty.” The hesitation was for a moment too long. He continued, “I wanted to ask for your number.” He mumbled, distressed he raised a hand to run through his hair. At the motion he grunted, his other hand hesitating towards his wrist before dropping again.    
  
You blinked, following the motion. He was hurt. His arm specifically. And he was wearing a long sleeve shirt. As if to cover bruises.    
  
“Oh.” You began, thinking hard. Maybe it was a stretch but he was close in stature to that copy cat you ran into the other night. You blinked in sudden recognition. Bruises from a dog bite.    
  
He had been with the other guy. Maybe even at the ritual. Blinking away any signs of suspicion you turned away from him; somewhat coyly.    
  
“I- thanks.” You laughed, also offering sheepish gesture. Fishing for a moment in your pocket you grabbed your phone, dropping the crumpled bills you intended to pay with.    
  
“Oh, here.” Leaning down he snagged the paper, passing them off to you.    
  
Nodding in thanks, you unlocked your phone, passing it over. His expression was written with surprise but he quickly punched in the digits. You accepted it back after a moment.   
  
In solidarity you shot him a text. There. Now You had all the time in the world to grill him.   
  
“Well, I should get going.” You began again, taking a few cautious steps back. As much as you wanted to ask questions, it felt safer at home, with Chevy to back you up.    
  
Without waiting for a reply you hoped he got the message. Strolling up the aisle you grabbed a hefty bag of dog food, slinging it over your shoulder in one deft movement.    
  
“I could carry that for you.” Kyle suggested.   
  
“I got it.”    
  
“I insist.” Before you could stop him, he dragged it off of you, grunting at the weight.   
  
You frowned, but tried to look happy.   
  
“Oh, thanks.” You mumbled.   
  
Alright, apparently you were going to grill him now.   
  
“So, how was your Halloween?” You asked, allowing him to follow you to the till. Sweat was prickling on his forehead. He set the bag on the belt immediately.    
  
“It was good.” He said, too quickly. “I hung out with some friends. We partied a bit, watched some scary movies, smoked up. Y’know.” He shrugged, as though he had rehearsed the even the action.   
  
“What about you?” He asked.   
  
You handed off the cash.    
  
“Stayed at home with the pooch. Caught up on some Netflix.” You laughed. “I’m not really into the spooky season.” You lied. Halloween was the bomb. Just maybe not  _ this  _ Halloween.    
  
Grabbing your bags you reached for the kibble; nose wrinkling slightly as Kyle instantly grabbed it from your reach. “Your dorm isn't far from here.” He said.   
  
That familiar knife of unease lanced at you again.    
  
You didn’t ask him how he knew. Absently you tucked one hand in your pocket fingers lacing around your keys. Not again.    
  
As you left the store that sickly sensation only worsened; and you found yourself scanning the quickly darkening surroundings for any figures. Or white masks. Or both.    
  
Setting a swift pace, you kept Kyle in your peripheral vision. “Sorry, I don't mean to rush, I hate the dark.” You apologized.  _ Especially since you tried to kidnap me in it.  _   
  
As you walked you kept to the edge of the sidewalk closest to the road; nobody would snag you from the alleyway this time. You could see your dorm up ahead. Somewhere behind you a twig snapped.    
  
Spinning you stared into the dark. Was that a flash of white? You bit your lip. Even Kyle looked spooked. Why did Kyle look spooked?   
  
Walking faster still you arrived at the door, unlocking it and throwing it open in one motion. Chevy ran to the door to greet you, only to stop a few paces short. A low growl emanating from him as he took in the bastard holding his food.    
  
“Oh, sorry. He isn’t usually like this.” You commented, patting his head. His growling ceased, but he still glared daggers. 

  
Kyle stepped in without invitation, closing the door behind him. His eyes scanned the room fervently, before seeming to remember you were there. “Bigger than mine.” He laughed, his cheeks flushing. He set down the dog food, and you took your shoes off.      
  
Trusting Chevy to watch him you began putting away your food, hunger suddenly forgotten. “Tea?” You asked as you went. He nodded, and you gathered up two mugs. “Can you reach the box down for me?” You asked. Calculating.   
  
He obliged, extending his grasp to the shelf above the two of you; his sleeve falling down just enough for you to note the bruises. He seemed the realize his mistake a second after.    
  
You didn’t say anything, just accepted the box as though nothing had happened. A soft buzz buzz imminated from kyle’s pocket and you used the distraction to set the kettle. He looked at his phone, eyes scrolling. As if reading something lengthly.    
  
You scooped Chevy some food; which he didn't touch. Instead he follow like a shadow; right at your heels.    
  
Kyle tucked his phone away. That uneasy feeling returned in another wave. You grabbed the mugs, setting them at the table. Along with a shabby container of honey.    
  
The kettled hummed and you reached for it.   
  
“Let me!” He said suddenly, grabbing the handle before you could. You blinked. He gestured for you to sit. You sat.    
  
He began pouring. Another wave of unease. Chevy stood suddenly, letting out a low bark, his eyes set on the window of the front door.   
  
It caused Kyle to jump, and he missed your mug; spilling hot water onto the table and then your lap. You leapt up immediately. “Shit!” You hissed. Resisting the urge to immediately tug your pants off you shoved past him, into the bathroom. Promptly slamming the door shut, you locked it instinctively.    
  
The second you were in you began stripping, shucking off the hot pants and stuffing your leg into the shower. You turned it on cold and relished in the relief. Fuck that stung. You gave it a few minutes, before turning the water off and toweling the tender skin.    
  
“You okay? I’m so sorry.” Kyle said from the other side of the door. The knob turned slightly.    
  
“Yeah.” You sighed. “Can you get me some other pants?” You asked, not wanting to put your other ones back on. And definitely not wanting to walk past the creep half naked.   
  
“Er, sure!” he agreed, just a little to eagerly.    
  
Ugh.   
  
A moment after his footsteps returned. Wrapping the towel around your waist you unlocked the door, opening it a crack. Pajama fabric filled the crack. You took it, slipping them on in one swift movement. No sooner were the garments on did the door swing open; and then shut.    
  
Kyle pressed his back against the door, a corresponding flurry of barks trailing him. Claws scrabble against the door, his snarls echoing in the hall.    
  
Oh.   
  
Shit.    
  
His hand emerged from his pocket with a knife. The same knife. His opposite hand locked the door.    
  
_ Click. _ _  
_ _  
_ He took one step forward and you took one step back. And then another. Your back hit the shower curtain. Kyle lunged and you ducked to the side, slipping on your wet pants and cracking your hip against the counter corner.    
  
Kyle recovered faster, seizing your wrist. You in turn grabbed his, at least as well as you could from your half crouched position. You dug your nails into his bruise.   
  
“Bitch!” He grunted, ripping himself free and kneeing you in the stomach. You gasped; falling the rest of the way to the floor. He planted a foot on your chest; blade bared.   
  
Outside Chevy went silent.    
  
It was as if the night was holding its breath. Sweat glistened on Kyle’s forehead, and he licked his lips. His eyes were malevolent and dark. There was a soft clicking noise, and both of you glanced at the doorknob. It turned, but stopped short by the lock.    
  
Another few slow lurching heartbeats. Then a silver blade parted the center of the door; scaring the absolute shit out of you. It retreated, then stabbed again, and again, until it was replaced by a fist; which scrambled for the knob. You screamed. Kyle screamed.    
  
The knob twisted as the lock popped open. The hand retreated and the door swung open.    
  
The doorway was filled with...   
  
_ The Shape.  _ _  
_


	6. Cat's Outta the Bag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it. Just you, Michael, and your stalker. Lets hope Mikey here thinks you're a cut above the rest...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow wow! That was actually fun to write. I find this fic quite challenging; largely because it was never meant to be more than a prompt. However, I think i finally have a little momentum, yahoo! The plot is kinda cheesy but hopefully I executed it well. Hope y'all enjoy! <3

Another few heartbeats passed and you barely managed to let out a whisper of breath before The Shape slowly took a step into the bathroom. From your vantage point flat on your back he looked even taller; his smoldering charcoal eyes passing over your figure and slowly up the offending limb that held you in place- all the way up to the owner.

 

To your dismay Kyle’s face wasn't horrified but rather elated. “Holy shit.” Was all he managed, your bruised ribs and the foot boot on your chest preventing you from a sassy retort. That and the indomitable fear that came with being so close to Michael.   
  
Another step. Michael towered just above your head; if he stretched his arms out he could almost embrace Kyle. Your stomach churned- sincerely hoping he wouldn’t. “Michael Fucking Myers, in the flesh. You're a lot bigger up close.” Kyle commented, mystified. A smile played at the corner of his lips. A frown on yours.   
  
What..?   


“Y’know I tried to bag this one for ya. Has lots of fight in her. You like ‘em like that right?” Kyle asked, tongue passing over his lips once more. His eyes only broke from Michael’s mask for a second; glancing down at you. Hungry. Predatory. The way he spoke; it was almost as if they were pals. Or he wanted them to be.   
  
You grunted as Kyle leaned forward, his weight crushing the air out of you lungs. Now he offered you his full gaze, pupils wide and dark, his face cracking in a hysterical grin. Glancing at Michael he aimed the knife at you, slowly releasing his foot. “Get up.” He commanded. You did no such thing. “Get up!” He went on again, irritation rising in his voice like a frothing tide. This guy was a psychopath. Jutting the blade at you once more you slowly got to your feet. Bruising ribs and a blackened hip made your ascent slow, but you managed to stand.   
  
“Here, you can have the first shot.” Kyle reasoned, he twisted your shoulder so your back was to him; the knife pricking the column of your spine. “I don’t mind sloppy seconds.” He laughed; too breathy behind you. Now you faced Michael; a column of muscle that made your heart beat even faster. You hoped he wouldn't hurt you. That whatever relationship you had begun to kindle the day prior still stood.

  
Fear made you stiffen- panic threatening to make your mind completely blank. As if all the stress you had managed to push out was finally cascading in around you to drown you.   


Afraid of what fire you might see in Michael’s face you avoided it entirely. Staring at the wall beyond the door frame.  
  
Was this it? You were going to die at the hands of two crazies in the bathroom of your own home? And after you were dead, then what.   
  
Chevy?  
  
Something within you balked at that, and with sudden vicious speed you jutted your elbow back; driving it into Kyle’s solar plexus. Nobody was gonna hurt your boy. Not until you were dead. If Chevy was still alive that was. You wouldn't allow yourself to consider if he wasn’t.   
  
Winded he loosened his grip on the knife, and you swiftly dodged to the side; cracking your damaged ribs on the towel rack in your haste.   
  
No sooner had Kyle recovered did Michael take another step. Closing the gap you had left.   
  
“Shit, she’s there!” Kyle hissed, but Michael’s attention was trained entirely on his prey. Badly you wished to edge your way out, but Michael’s bulk ate up and extra space- keeping you trapped.   
  
As if finally realizing he wasn’t about to have a murder date with his killer-crush; Kyle lunged, slashing the blade in an arc that Michael managed to dodge.   
  
The assailant swung again, this time managing to slash Michael’s thigh in one clean arc. It didn’t go unmatched. Extending one massive pale hand the teen was shoved back into the tub; where he scrambled to find purchase on the wet mass of curtains that fell in around him.   
  
There’s was a few brief clunks as Michael stabs through the fabric into linoleum, before a wet shunk, and a short pained yelp; which let you know he’s hit his mark. Revealing the reddened blade Michael allowed his target to uncover himself. Even to stand. But before he could speak the knife burrowed itself sharply into the kids shoulder; pinning him in place and earning another agonized grunt.   
  
Kyle’s switchblade clattered to the floor, gliding in the curve of the tub before coming to an abrupt stop.   
  
“Please, please man don’t do this. I didn’t do anything. Hell I helped _make_ you. I-I’ve been a huge fan, I’ve even watched all the documentaries.” Kyle stammered, words just seeming to spew from his lips. His hands were raised in a ‘stop’ gesture.   
  
For a moment Michael tilted his head, as if considering something. A few heartbeats passed before he raised his hands; setting them tight around Kyle’s throat; earning a brief surprised “Hurk!”   
  
The whole exchange lasted probably under a minute; and you found yourself simply staring at the scene. A sort of strange wonder and satisfaction filling you at the sight if your attacker completely helpless. It is swiftly erased by disgust; as the bloodshot eyes of the dying intruder shift to you.   
  
Wait, did he say, _make?_   
  
Eyeing the slowly blueing man you blinked. They had made him? That was impossible. You can't just, transmute a human being. It just… That just couldn't be true.  You shook your head, struggling to understand. There was really only one way to know.   
  
“Michael.” You said sharply. Turning to face him for the first time that evening. Searching his face.

 

He ignored you.

 

“Michael, stop! I need to ask him some questions!” You warned, subconsciously grabbing one of those taunt muscled arms as you spoke. He blinked, you could see his knuckles whiten. His grip must have tightened, as Kyle  began frantically pounding on the forearms holding him.   
  
Dipping under his arms you pushed yourself between him and his target; blocking the view between them. “Stop! Look, I don’t give a shit what you do with this bastard, but I need to know some things first.” You amended; daring to look him right in those flickering abyssal eyes.   
  
For a few seconds the world seemed to slow; just you staring down Evil Incarnate.   
  
A sputtering cough from behind you told you The Shape had humoured you. Keeping contact for just a few more seconds, you took a step back; as Michael’s arms dropped to his side.   
  
“Thank you.” You stated, your voice breathy and high in your throat with a mix of anxiety and endorphins. Not moving, you awkwardly turned to face Kyle.   
  
He was still coughing; gagging even, with one hand fumbling to grab at the handle of the knife. It was in the wall all the way up to the hilt- shattering the tile around it. Blood darkened the front of his clothes, seeping into his sweater and dribbling down the shower wall at his back.   
  
You were confident he wouldn’t escape.   
  
“What do you mean, you made him?” You questioned; hoping the weariness and anxiety was exempt from your tone. You must have looked pretty intimidating (or perhaps it was the six foot eight killer at your back) but he nodded immediately, as if expecting the question.   
  
“I- I can’t say.” He managed, fixing you with bloodshot eyes.   
  
“Tell me, or I-.” You began.   
  
“They’ll kill me.” He cut you off.   
  
“He’ll kill you first.” You spat, with finality.   
  
Kyle seemed to consider that; as if finally understanding he wasn't getting out of this.   
  
“Okay, so,” He coughed. “Obviously, Michael Myers is a fucking legend.” He began.   
  
“So when the city opened up for cheap rooms, a ton of admirers and I decided to move into the turf. At first it was just because it was cool. See, we had this whole website dedicated to copy cats. Fans. Devotees, Myer’s was-” You shook your head.   
  
“Copy cats?” You asked. Actually, like, serial killers? Seriously?   
  
He nodded, a smile on his lips.   
“Fuck yeah, lots of people taped it, posted it to the site. It was amazing.” You blinked, shaking your head. Nausea swirled in your gut. You hadn’t considered the world could be so, well, fucked.   
  
“A deep web site?” You prompted. He nodded.   
  
“After we moved in one of our members said he could hook us up, let us see the mask. It was locked up in some safe out of state but he convinced them to send it over after one of our Copy-Cats got a little too close to home. Told them he just wanted to be sure. And they actually fucking did it.”   
  
Slowly Kyle eased into a lean, one hand still firmly trying to dislodge the knife you figured was very much stuck in a wall stud.   
  
“Once we had the mask, I brought up this ritual I saw while in the deep. It was fucked. Some black magic shit but it said you could reanimate someone. I thought it as bullshit but I brought it up anyways. How fucking sick would it be, bringing back _The_ Michael fucking Myers.”   
  
He smiled at this, his dark eyes clouded as he seemed to be picturing it.   
  
“So we did. It required some weird shit. An old fucking book that cost us two months rent, and another month just to get it shipped out. Some… thorns? Candles, incense…” He shrugged at that, as much as the knife would allow. “The mask…”   
  
“And then the offering.” He smiled at you from where stood pinned, from your distance you could see the welts bruising around his throat.   
  
“After me and Nathan fucked up we had to get someone else. So we dropped by one of the house parties and chloroformed some chick who was totally wasted. Told the dude sitting with her we were taking her home. They let us. So we brought her to the site.” He nodded, swallowing. His eyes still far, far away.   
  
“We set up the ritual, and we killed her. Gutted like a fish.” He returned to himself as he said this, turning that starving gaze to you. He watched you for a moment, and you felt unnerved to your core; daring even to take a step back.   
  
Michael’s wrought iron torso prevented you from escaping further; and you took a moment to gather yourself, the sturdy presence feeding your bravery. Or perhaps your fear. Regardless you nodded.   
  
“And?” You rasped, your voice dry, wrought with dread.   
  
“And we read the book. Lit the candles and the incense, left the mask in the middle. We couldn’t get the knife so we provided one of ours. I can't describe it. One moment we were there and the next… Him.” He jutted his chin behind him.   
  
“He was naked, but fucking alive. Him. He had the mark. The mark of Thorn. He put the mask on first. And then the uniform. And when he finally looked at all of us. I nearly pissed myself. He got Ryan first, and then Jess. He was so efficient. It was fucking terrifying; and so fucking cool. To see him work. But we thought this might happen. We had precautions. Knives and shit.   
  
“Andre had this hunting knife, got him with it, right in the guts. But he just kept fucking going. Chased us. Anastasia had this shovel; he snapped it like a twig. But she managed to get him a couple times. It was a bloodbath. Total carnage. Death, fuck, it smells like shit.” He laughed at this, shaking his head.   
  
He looked pale. Like he was fading. Panic rose in you again.   
  
“I got out, some of us did, some of us didn’t. But fuck, we fucking did it.” He snickered, the note drawn out.   
  
“But… _why_ ?” You questioned. He just laughed.   
  
“‘Cause we’re a different breed than you. Better, bigger, we can do what you can’t. We could run this town. Everyone fears evil... It's easy to conquer those who are afraid.” He finished. In the silence between you his phone began buzzing.   
  
You had heard enough. Clenching and unclenching your fist, you caught him full in the jaw with a right hook. It was one hell of a punch, rooted in adrenaline, fear and anger. Blood spattered the wall; his nose busted. You have him one for for good luck, grunting with the effort, before digging in his pocket for his phone.   
  
Backing away from him, you turned to Michael. Who was looking down at you with his head cocked to the side.   
  
“All yours.” You stated, patting him on the shoulder with your split knuckles. You didn’t look back as you left, just took a deep breath.   
  
Chevy.   
  
Eyes widening you entered the hallway, throat immediately tightening with grief. “Chev?” You asked, the note hanging in the air. Nothing.   
  
You entered the kitchen. Empty. Your eyes scanned the room before catching movement on the patio. You yanked the door open.   
  
A familiar black and tan head poked around the corner; baleful brown eyes wide and distressed. He was panting up a storm. No sooner than when he saw you did he let out an overjoyed yelp. Very unfitting of a massive rottweiler. You let out a sound strikingly similar.   
  
You simply help him, finally letting out an anguished sob into his plush fur. He lapped them away, whimpered and nuzzling your chin. Then he licked the blood that must have splattered on your face away. And then your battered knuckles. Patching you up as best he could, in his doggy way. You stayed like that for what must have been fifteen minutes; before the sound of a vehicle coming around motivated you to stand.   
  
Slowly getting to your feet you made your way back in.   
There was a knock on the door.   
  
“Ma’am, this is Officer Brent; we received word of a domestic dispute, or possible robbery. Can you open up?” A voice asked.   
  
Fuck.   
  
Police.

 _Fuck._  


**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoy my writing, please consider supporting me through my Ko-fi;  
> http://ko-fi.com/clockworkcryptid  
> Anyone kind enough to donate gets a little gift in return. <3


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